Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 5

There isn't any G.o.d. Sometimes Mrs Sutton found herself wondering about that, too. First her son, then her husband. Surely the G.o.d she had believed in since she was a child - vast, comforting, all-knowing and all-powerful - wouldn't have let this happen to her?

'The rat of doubt gnawing at the foundations of your faith'

- that's what Mr Upton, the curate, had called it, when she'd spoken to him about it. He'd said it was only natural in the circ.u.mstances, and had recommended prayer, and the healing course of time. But he didn't have a frightened, angry, disbelieving daughter to console. And he didn't have another daughter - she glanced at Carrie, now chattering amiably to Roger - who was silly enough to invite a charlatan spiritualist to the house, and involve Manda in a charade of table-knocking and the Other Side just when she had begun to get interested in life again. Mrs Sutton knew she should have forbidden it; but the rat of doubt had whispered to her, had said, Wouldn't you like to prove it? Wouldn't you like to be Wouldn't you like to prove it? Wouldn't you like to be sure? Wouldn't you like to talk to them? sure? Wouldn't you like to talk to them? And she had invited Madame Segovie into her house. And she had invited Madame Segovie into her house.

Mrs Sutton wondered if anyone had seen the shadow of that doubt crossing her face just now, when she had said that George and Charles were in G.o.d's care. Manda hadn't seemed to; but Benny - yes, Benny had seen it. There had been a flicker of the eyes, an acknowledgement. That's the trouble with inviting perceptive people to tea, thought Mrs Sutton. They're likely to perceive things when you're not sure that you want them to. But she was still glad that Benny was there.

Manda and the young woman were now deep in conversation, as if they were old friends. Manda was telling Benny all about the different types of teddy bears there were, and where they came from, and who had given them to her.

She had quite a collection upstairs; she called it 'the Zoo'.

She'd started it before Charles's death but it had been greatly augmented since then. She talked about it a lot, though none of the other bears meant quite as much to her as old Frederick.

Suddenly Manda stood up. 'May Benny and I be excused, Mummy? I'd like to show her the Zoo.'

Mrs Sutton nodded, but looked at the untouched slice of cake and gla.s.s of milk in front of her daughter. 'You must take your tea with you, though, and make sure you eat it.'

She was looking sidelong at Benny as she spoke; the younger woman gave a slight nod.

Manda was away, taking her gla.s.s but leaving her plate behind. Benny picked it up and followed her, grinning over her shoulder at Carrie, who gave her a little wave and went on talking to Roger.

Mrs Sutton wondered briefly what the confident young woman saw in Carrie; then she remembered that they'd only met today, and decided that Benny was probably more interested in the seance than in her daughter. Perhaps, despite her apparent scepticism, she too was searching for some kind of confirmation. Something to believe in. Perhaps she had had lost someone in the war. lost someone in the war.

I don't think you'll find them tonight, thought Mrs Sutton.

But I wish you luck, my dear. I wish you luck.

If Mrs Sutton hadn't already been inclined to regard Madame Segovie as a fraud, then her extraordinary costume would have aroused at least a few suspicions. She wore a sleeveless jacket and baggy trousers made of a silvery, almost luminous, artificial silk, a purple velveteen waistcoat and matching ankle-trim, gold shoes and - most incredible of all - a gold silk turban knotted up with a large bow over her left ear. She completed the effect with a monocle and a long, black cigarette holder. She lit up her cigarette as she came into the sitting-room, filling the air with the pungency of Turkish tobacco.

'Zis room has ze atmosphere atmosphere,' she announced, in a French accent so evidently false that Mrs Sutton almost laughed. She then wandered around, peering at the photographs of Charles and George on the mantle, the cushions and antimaca.s.sars on the chair and the sofa, the curtains, the lamps, and the all-important circular table, where the other guests were already seated. She briefly said h.e.l.lo to Carrie and Manda, and was introduced to Roger and to Benny. She shook hands with both of them, blew smoke in their faces. Then she walked over to the small bar laid out on the dresser. She glanced at Mrs Sutton. 'May I?'

'Certainly,' said Mrs Sutton, stepping forward. 'Allow me.'

But Madame Segovie was already pouring herself a large whisky. A very large whisky. 'Zis helps with ze concentration,' she explained, before downing it in one gulp.

Benny, Mrs Sutton noticed, was watching the spiritualist closely, though from the corner of her eye and without seeming to. She was also talking to Manda; or rather Manda was talking to her, apparently still on the subject of teddy bears. Mrs Sutton could only admire her guest's patience.

She sat down on Benny's other side, between her and the seat reserved for Madame Segovie. Roger and Carrie, opposite her, already had their hands on the table, palms down but none the less discreetly touching.

Perhaps they will get married, thought Mrs Sutton. I hope so.

Carrie moved her hand a fraction away from Roger's: perhaps she had noticed the direction of her mother's stare.

'We're ready,' she said.

Ah, but I am not, alas,' said Madame Segovie. She crouched down and looked under the table, with a muttered, Pardonnez-moi Pardonnez-moi; then stood up and nodded at Ginny, who was standing by the door. 'If you could turn off ze electric lights now, s'il vous plait s'il vous plait.' She made the last phrase sound like 'silver plate'. Mrs Sutton caught Benny's eye; the younger woman grinned and shook her head.

The maid switched off the lights and left the room. Mrs Sutton found a moment to wonder what the girl made of it all.

Probably she thought it was 'hocus-pocus'. Probably she was right.

Madame Segovie, her position marked by the red glow of her cigarette, took her place at the table. Everyone put their hands palm-down on the polished surface. Manda whispered, 'Benny, do you think teddy bears have souls?'

Madame Segovie coughed. 'If I could have a few moments of zilence, please,' she said. 'I need to concentrate at zis time.'

The 'zilence' stretched. Mrs Sutton heard Carrie whisper something, felt Madame Segovie's hand touch hers and withdraw. She felt her heart beat faster and realized that, despite Madame Segovie's manifestly false French accent and her incredible clothes, she was still expecting something to happen. Something that would prove the unprovable, chase the shadow of doubt away.

There was a faint rustling sound, then three firm raps on the table. Mrs Sutton remembered what Manda had said about Madame Segovie kicking the table. But it hadn't sounded like that.

'h.e.l.lo, Klondike,' said Madame Segovie suddenly, in a booming, theatrical voice, then added in a conversational tone, 'Klondike says h.e.l.lo. He is my usual control, one of ze most reliable of ze operators.'

'The one I told you about!' hissed Carrie. He's ever so clever! He's the one that got Charles for us last week! He's a gold miner and he got killed in -'

There was another rap on the table. Mrs Sutton smiled to herself; even ghosts, it appeared, felt the need to silence Carrie. But underneath her amus.e.m.e.nt, she felt a deep and final sense of disappointment. Like Madame Segovie herself, all this was so obviously ridiculous. A gold miner, with a name like Klondike! No doubt the rapping on the table was some kind of sleight-of-hand (or foot), made easy by the darkness. No doubt Madame Segovie would try some funny voices in a moment, but it would take more than that to restore Mrs Sutton's faith in the seance now.

'Zere is a stranger here - a foreigner, Klondike says.'

'That's me, I expect,' said Benny. 'I've travelled a lot, so he probably thinks I'm foreign.'

There was a pause, then Madame Segovie said, 'It is not possible! Are you sure?' Another pause. 'He says that ze foreigner is - not of zis world. She should not be here.'

Mrs Sutton frowned. She wished that there was some light, so that she could see Benny's face. It was clear that Madame Segovie was trying to discredit Benny. Perhaps Benny was an investigator, someone who set out to uncover fake mediums, and that Madame Segovie suspected this.

'Do you want me to leave?' Benny's voice, quiet, calm.

'No,' said Mrs Sutton, quickly, before the medium could ask the opinion of 'Klondike' in the matter. 'I want her to stay.

If nothing happens, then nothing happens. But I'd like Mr - um - Klondike to at least try to speak to Charles.'

There were two raps on the table. 'That means yes,' said Carrie. 'He'll try it.'

Another rap on the table, then a long silence. Benny's hand touched Mrs Sutton's briefly, as if in rea.s.surance.

Suddenly there was a violent series of raps. The table shuddered and swayed, and Madame Segovie gasped.

'Zomething is wrong! I've found - zat is, Klondike's found - oh!'

Mrs Sutton opened her mouth to speak, but before she could find words there was a blinding flash of light and she was pushed back from the table, over the top of her chair, and on to the carpet with enough force to knock the breath from her. Someone landed on top of her, then jumped aside.

She became aware of the smell of smoke.

'What's happening?' she shouted, but her voice was dim and muzzy in her ears.

Abruptly, the lights came on. She saw Benny, standing by the switches, her mouth working. But Mrs Sutton couldn't hear the words, only a m.u.f.fled shouting that seemed to be coming from another room. Carrie was standing at the table, evidently screaming, but Mrs Sutton couldn't hear that either, only a faint, distant wailing that might have been a ghost.

I'm deaf, she thought. Whatever's happened has deafened me.

She looked for Manda, saw her sitting in her chair, but her chair was on the far side of the room and the girl's face was smudged with charcoal. Mrs Sutton ran over to her, put her hands on the girl's shoulders.

'Can you hear me?' she shouted.

Manda nodded, mouthed something, then turned and shouted to someone else - Mrs Sutton could just make out the words 'She can't hear'.

'I can hear!' bawled Mrs Sutton. 'But not very well. Is anyone else hurt? What happened?'

Silence. The door burst open, and Ginny appeared, wide-eyed. Mrs Sutton pushed Manda towards her, said, 'Keep her with you.'

The maid said something; Mrs Sutton caught the words '... fire brigade?' She frowned, looked over her shoulder. Only then did she see the char-blackened hole in the middle of her table. It was more than two feet across, and the edges of it were still smouldering. Madame Segovie was rolling on the floor near the table, her hands to her ears, blood trickling from her nose. Benny was standing over her, shouting something. As Mrs Sutton watched, the young woman slapped the medium's face, hard.

If this was some sort of spiritualist's fakery that had gone wrong - She turned back to the maid. 'No, but telephone the police station. Ask them to send someone as soon as they can.' As she spoke, Mrs Sutton became aware that she could hear her own voice again. She could also hear Benny, shouting at Madame Segovie.

'You've got to tell me now! What did you see?'

'It were impossible, ma'am.' A weak voice, just audible to Mrs Sutton's recovering ears. It was a very long way from the fake accent of Madame Segovie; it sounded more as if it belonged in the East End of London. 'I 'ad nothing to do with it - I couldn't stop it, I swear!'

'What - did - you - see?' Benny pulled the medium upright, held her so that their faces were only about a foot apart.

'A battlefield. It were - it was - ' Quite abruptly, the woman recovered her French accent. 'Mud, mud, everyzing was covered in mud. And zere were bodies - and falling lights - and aeroplanes, very big ones, flying very fast.'

To Mrs Sutton's amazement, Benny nodded slowly, as if none of this were particularly unexpected.

'Did you see any people?' she asked the medium.

'Zere were people. Two of zem. And zomething - summat looked like a bear, but all dressed up.' Her accent was gone again. Mrs Sutton found herself feeling sorry for the woman; it was quite clear that, whatever had happened, she genuinely hadn't been in control of it.

Benny let the medium go; the woman sat down heavily in her chair. 'Well done,' said Benny. 'Sorry I slapped you. Do you feel better now?'

Madame Segovie nodded. 'But it's all going blurry, like.'

'It will,' said Benny. 'Experiences induced by psychic resonance tend to fade quickly. They're like dreams.'

Madame Segovie turned to Mrs Sutton, said, 'I saw yer son. I saw Charles. 'E was right in the middle of it.'

Mrs Sutton felt a twisting in her gut. 'Are you sure?' she said. 'You're not making it up?'

'No, ma'am, no, I wouldn't make none of it up, it were real. I could tell 'im from 'is photo.'

Mrs Sutton looked around the room, at Carrie and Roger clinging on to each other by the fireplace, at Madame Segovie, bloodied and frightened, staring at her, at Benny, who was crouched over the wreck of the table, examining the burned area with something that looked like a small electric torch. She felt her body freeze, and the room seemed to spin around her as she put the chain of facts together: Madame Segovie had been trying to contact Charles on the Other Side; she had found a terrible battlefield; the battlefield was real, real enough for a sh.e.l.l that exploded there to blast a two-foot hole in her best card table; and Madame Segovie had seen Charles there.

'G.o.d forgive me,' she whispered slowly. 'Charles must be in h.e.l.l.'

Then her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed on to the carpet.

'Take her pulse! Take her pulse!'

Mrs Sutton knew that she could only have been unconscious for a few moments, for she was still on the carpet and she could still smell the smoke in the air. A ring of faces looked down at her. Benny still had the torchlike thing in her hand; Mrs Sutton could see a blue light flashing, very quickly, somewhere inside it. Carrie was twittering away to Roger, something about a doctor. Ginny and Manda had returned. Ginny had a hand to her mouth, and it was Manda who was saying, 'Take her pulse!'

'I'm all right,' she tried to say, but it came out as a dry croak. She cleared her throat, tried again. 'I'm all right. It was just the shock.' She started to sit up, but Benny put a hand against her shoulder, gently but firmly.

'I wouldn't if I were you. Give yourself a minute or two.'

Mrs Sutton felt a new wave of weakness pa.s.s through her as Benny spoke; she lay back, heard Benny speaking through a ringing in her ears. 'Now everyone else stand back and let her get some air - or better still, leave the room. I'll make sure that she's all right.'

There was a scuffling of feet, and the sound of Carrie talking, both slowly fading away. At last the door shut and there was silence.

Mrs Sutton became aware that she was feeling sick. A hand took hers, another pushed a cushion behind her head.

Thus supported, she could see Benny, kneeling on the carpet. The younger woman's eyes met hers, waited.

Finally Benny said, 'Charles isn't in h.e.l.l.'

Mrs Sutton managed a smile. 'No, of course not. I was being silly. I can see it now; that terrible woman is a charlatan. I'm very grateful to you for exposing her.' She paused. She knew that what she was saying didn't even begin to describe the truth - charlatans can't burn two foot holes in card tables - but for now she just wanted it over with.

'I don't know what I would have done without you here,' she finished lamely.

But Benny was shaking her head. 'It isn't that simple.' It was her turn to pause. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them again. 'Actually, Charles isn't dead.'

Mrs Sutton felt her stomach clench again, closed her eyes. It wasn't possible. G.o.d couldn't do this to her. No one could do this to her. She shook her head weakly. 'No, Benny, please.'

It's true,' said Benny simply. 'They didn't find his body, did they? Just a hole in the ground. And the same for Sergeant John Betts, Corporal Robert Dale and Private David Stringer. And Gefreite Hans Goth and Gefreite Reinhardt Perelmann from the German side.'

Mrs Sutton frowned and felt her face p.r.i.c.kle as blood returned to the skin. 'Who are you?' she asked at last.

Benny looked down at her lap for a moment, then shrugged. 'Let's just say I'm a sort of - investigator. Some friends and I are investigating a sort of crime.' She paused. 'A big crime. If we succeed, we might be able to get Charles back. Alive.'

Mrs Sutton frowned again, cautiously propped herself upright. Met Benny's eyes. 'No, my dear,' she said. 'That isn't good enough. If my son is involved, I want the whole truth.'